A Brownie in the Brownies
by SmartieBlondie
Summary: Nico worked odd jobs. Working as a tiny magical fairy thing? That was one odd job he was not up for. Unfortunately, Nico had no say in the matter. Now he's secretly a live-in maid in the apartment of some guy named Will, he has no idea how to un-shrink himself and worst of all, he just might be falling in love with the messy and horribly tall, blonde dimwit. -Solangelo.
1. Crazy Old Lady

**IMPORTANT AN: Hi! Thank you for reading this! My authors notes will be filled with clearing up anything I might find will confuse the reader about lore that I can't put in the story, or other hopefully helpful and important things. This story is pretty much rated M for swearing and mature themes, but no sex scenes. I am absolutely terrible at writing them and we will all be better off without. If you have any lore questions, inquiries about the story or anything like that, please feel free to PM me or leave a review! Now, to the story!**

Nico was known for being able to do small jobs around the house He was not afraid to make use of this reputation. Fix a leaky pipe here, help lay down some carpeting there and presto! Forty bucks and a free meal at his feet. Using his odd bartering system, Nico was able to help pay his side of the rent for his shared apartment (which was a bit smaller than Reyna's. She had a job.). Besides, if ever there was something he couldn't pay for, he could probably just make or fix it. Therefore, it was not at all odd for Nico to leave his apartment to the sweltering heat of mid-July to go help Wacky Old Mrs. White with her faulty cabinets. ' _Seriously? Sixty-five bucks for fixing a creaky cabinet?'_ Nico had thought. ' _Where do I sign up?'_

Mrs. Whites house was the kind of place that makes you think of that story about an old lady living in a boot. The place seemed to be falling apart at the seams and some of the flowery pink wallpaper was starting to peel off and reveal wood underneath. The grass outside was brittle and dry while any plant life inside of the house was either wilted and brown or so completely odd to Nico that he wasn't sure they weren't plastic. Though Nico was forced to stop his musing at Mrs. Whites shrill command to get Nico marching into the kitchen.

Opposite to the rest of the house, Mrs. Whites kitchen was positively sparkling (though a bit odd). The pristine white tiles sparkled in the light filtering from the lace-curtained windows, and the granite countertops looked clean enough to eat off of. This was very much unlike the adjacent hallway, where Nico swore he'd seen the rodent version of Godzilla pee on the fraying carpet.

Though looking like the most well-kept room of the house, it seemed the kitchen managed to also be the most odd. There were bowls of porridge, honey and milk scattered all around. There was one huge dog bowl on the counter that read 'Brownie' on the side, and was filled to bursting with dinosaur oatmeal. A measuring cup with a pint of honey sat on top of the fridge with three tiny matchsticks stuck to the rim.

"Uh," Nico began intelligently, "Do you have a dog or something?"

Mrs. White looked up from where she was inspecting the dog bowl. "Oh no dear. Just some friends." Mrs. White smiled and Nico managed not to shudder too obviously. _'Oh my god. She's crazy. Absolutely nuts. No Nico. Endure. Remember the money!'_

Within his mind, Nico imagined his sister Hazel looking at him disapprovingly. He could hear the jeweller now. "Nico," she would warn. "Just be nice, okay?" And he would huff, cross his arms, and nod. So, Nico was going to be nice.

"Alright. The cabinets?"

Mrs. White nodded so vigorously her scraggly hair caught in her earrings. "Yes, yes. It's these ones you see. They've been stubborn to open and creaking terribly, all day and night. Scares my little friends, you know." Nico nodded mutely for lack of anything to say to that, and got to work.

One hour in, and Nico thought he had pretty much figured out the problem.

Two hours in, he realized the problem was larger than expected, and the air conditioning fizzed out.

Three hours in, Nico's hair was plastered to his face and he hallucinated. On the side of the counter, only about a rulers length from his hand, sat a small, furry little man, chugging milk through a swirly straw like he was going to die if he even thought of doing anything else. Nico promptly screeched in a distinctly banshee-esque manner and flicked the thing off the counter and onto the floor.

At his screech, Mrs. White calmly walked into the room and examined her kitchen. Then, she too screeched and sprinted to join the thing on the floor with a cry of, "Greg! No!"

As she fussed over the Greg-thing, Nico tried to come to terms with the fact that the weird little furry brown man was real and he _touched it_.

Mrs. White confirmed that yes, the hairy Greg-thing was alive and yes, he was in fact gravely injured. "My foot!" it wailed dramatically, clutching the body part in its furry fingers. "Oh no! Oh dear! Oh great buggering blubbernuggets! My foot-beard will never be the same! I am _traumatized_!" He managed to say 'traumatized' in the same aghast tone as one would imagine the Queen using as she witnessed her corgis taking a dump on the crown jewels. (Later, Nico would reflect on the fact that Greg should have been in broadway. With such a talent for being melodramatic and a set of lungs like those, he would be a star.)

Mrs. White rounded furiously on Nico. "What have you DONE?"

"What have I done? More importantly what the actual fuck is that thing!"

Mrs. White seemed to take a second to think about her next move. For a little while, Mrs. White stood still, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. (At the sight, Nico was strangely reminded of his big sister's expression whenever she'd gotten angry at him. She would start yelling, but a few words in, she would stop. Bianca would close her eyes, put her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose, breathe slowly, and count to ten in Italian. "Uno, due, tre..." Then, she would smile at him and they would fix whatever was wrong. This, however, was not how Mrs. White handled things.) After a few minutes more of silence, Mrs. White opened her eerie, white-blue eyes, and grinned.

"Why, Mr. DiAngelo." _'Not a good sign!'_ Thought Nico, ' _She sounds like Mr. Thorn! Not a good sign at all!'_ "This here is Greg McHufftrump. He is one of the little friends I was telling you about earlier. Do you perhaps, know what a Brownie is? No? It is alright. I will tell you. A Brownie is a type of fairy that lives in peoples houses, kitchens in my case, and helps them in everyday household chores. Things such as wiping up crumbs and washing dishes. If you give them gifts, porridge or honey for example, they become happier and friendlier. Though, Brownies do not much like to be seen. That is why they like to come out at nighttime best. Unfortunately, Greg here is a bit sick," ("I'm dying!" wailed Greg from the floor, sneezing theatrically.) "So he came down here while the others were asleep for a midday snack. You just happened upon him."

Nico found it hard to believe in fairies, but he found it even more unbelievable that he was believing this unbelievable story without much disbelief. But then again, if you couldn't believe your own eyes, what could you believe?

"Now, here is something you might be more familiar with." Mrs. White's grin managed to stretch even wider. "Witches. Witches often have little Brownie friends about the house. Nothing uncommon. Witches are humans that are capable of the fine art of magic. You know what magic is, yes? Good. You see, all of this is very important because I myself am a witch. And you see, I very much love my little Brownie friends, so I am afraid I will have to punish you for hurting one of them so." _'Oh my gods, oh my gods.'_ Nico thought frantically, backing into the granite countertops till they dug into his back and gripping them so tightly his knuckles shook. _'She's crazier than expected. Way crazier!'_

"It seems you do not have much of an appreciation for the Little People," _'What the hell?'_ "So, I will help you understand. Unfortunately, specie-scrambling potions take thirty years to brew. I will make do with some behaviour spells and a curse or two. I will not let you stay in my home though, oh _no_. You are far too rude."

 _'I am so confused about everything right now.'_ Nico's feet felt like they were glued to the ground. "Do not worry though. I know just the home for you. He has been complaining about the messes he manages to make since time immemorial! You are going to be just the thing."

For the first time since meeting his Step-Grandma Demeter, Nico was absolutely, thoroughly, and without a doubt terrified of an old lady in her kitchen.

Mrs. White had monstrous strength, both physically and in numbers. She had called to her aid a veritable army of _things_ (Brownies?) to her aid and overwhelmed him. She had then tied him up with a mish-mashed assortment of heavy-duty curtains, rope, duck tape, and zip ties around his wrists, ankles, knees and elbows. _'Overkill much?'_ Mused Nico inappropriately.

His screaming and hollering had been silenced with an old, dirty dishcloth stuffed into his mouth. He was _so_ going to die. His Hope for Escape was at 0 HP. (Yes, he played video games. No, he did not enjoy being called a gamer-guy, and yes, he was thinking of video game metaphors while being kidnapped my an army of deliciously named diabolical hench-fairies led by their evil old lady master who was a _witch_. ) _'Oh gods why me?'_

Mrs. White led him into her living room that witch or not, smelled like old lady, and ordered her inch-high Brownie minions to dump him on the middle of her raggedy red carpet. "Now then Mr. DiAngelo. Just give me ten minutes and we will figure everything out in a jiffy!" With this cheery declaration of pure, honey-coated _crazy_ , Mrs. White plopped down on one of her many armchairs with a large book in her hand. She spent the next ten-or-so minutes conversing lowly with her fairy minions about (presumably) world domination, desserts, and Nico's untimely demise.

After what felt like a millennia, Mrs. White rose from her chair and shooed her Brownie army onto the armchairs. "Now then. Here is what we will do. First, a spell to make you want to preform the right tasks and behaviors of a Brownie. You know, the same instincts of the FAIRIES YOU ALMOST KILLED!" Nico would never admit it, but he cowered a bit. This lady was almost as petrifying as

Step-Grandma Demeter. Almost. "Then, I will just shrink you down to size. Unfortunately, you will not get to look like a Brownie. Just the same as you are. Pale and boring." _'Ouch.'_ "But! You will be able to do some of the special things that Brownies can do. For example, your voice will be just as loud as a normal persons if you would like, or quiet as a mouse! You can even choose who can hear you! Oh! You know how ants can carry an amazing weight for their size? So will you! Brownies are such wonderful creatures are they not? And you almost KILLED ONE." Mrs. White took a deep breath and smoothed out her dress. " The rest you can find out for yourself! After all, this is a PUNISHMENT. Now, hold still..."

Mrs. White held out her arms in front of her, palms down, and started chanting. Her eyes began glowing an unsettling ice-blue and her matted hair whipped around her face. Nico couldn't tell what language she was chanting in. One moment it sounded like French, then switched to Cantonese, and then became Klingon for all Nico could decipher. Slowly, his vision started blackening around the edges, and Nico passed out just as Mrs. White started on with Spanish.


	2. The Great Kidnapping

When Nico finally awoke, he was sitting on a plate. The cool porcelain seeped through his jeans and Nico shifted with discomfort. Then, he realized he was sitting on a plate while Mrs. White, Greg, and some emo Brownie stared at him from across the table. He also realized that he was currently very, very small and Mrs. White's claims of witchcraft were very, very real.

Before he could panic again, Nico stopped himself and mentally counted to ten. _'One, two, three dead old ladies, four dead old ladies, six dead- this isn't working.'_

He opened his eyes again and gave his best death glare to Mrs. White. "What the fuck are you planning to do with me you wrinkled old hag?" It wasn't his most creative insult, but Nico was currently barely the size of a toothpick. He felt he was entitled to some over-used insults.

Mrs. White giggled and whispered into the ear of the unknown Brownie. Nico took some more time to examine that one. She was hairy all over, like Greg, but instead of brown her hair was dyed vibrant shades of pink, yellow and blue. The female Brownie had one eye covered by side swept bangs and she chewed obnoxiously on a lump of God-knows what. All that Nico could think was, _'Oh my gods, does everything actually have a stereotypical rebel teenager phase?'_

The colourful Brownie rolled her eyes and tromped over to Nico. Swallowing her gum, she spat, "Alright, look. My name's Kate, I'm Greg's daughter. Got that? Good. I gotta tell you that since you almost killed my dad in cold blood, you're gonna learn what it's like to be a part of the race you attempted to dishonourably slay." _'She really is Greg's daughter isn't she... Probably writes bad poetry too.'_

Mrs. White cheerfully spoke up from her seat at the table. "Now then Mr. DiAngelo. You will be staying with a wonderful young man, do not worry your IDIOTIC head about it. Just get in this container."

Nico inspected the tupperware Mrs. White brandished like a sword. The thing was sparkling clean, if a bitused-looking and filled with muffins. The sweet scent wafted over to Nico but strangely, he didn't want to eat them at all. Yet, Nico was famished. He hadn't eaten since morning, when he had grabbed an apple and an energy bar from his counter. He had thought for an early lunch. Judging by his internal clock, it was now likely late afternoon. Nico was ready to eat twice his weight in food and yet the thought of eating Mrs. White's muffins or even the thought of his breakfast, made him a bit nauseous.

"Now then Mr. DiAngelo, get in with the muffins! And do not dare mess about with them! We are going to visit someone special."

Nico swallowed down the bile accumulating in his throat, and made his way to Mrs. White.

Half an hour later, Mrs. White arrived at the door of whoever lived in apartment 221. Mrs. White had babbled through the entire trip about such inane things that Nico was temped to throw up onto her muffins, just to get her to stop talking.

"Oh dear, the weather is looking a bit dreary today. It was fine in the morning..."

"Will you look at that. Boys these days, always wearing their pants around their knees. You know, when I was a girl..."

"Oh, this apartment complex of his is ridiculous. Sweet boy he is, absolutely, but I absolutely abhor the decor. Oh! A rhyme!" Personally, Nico thought that Mrs. White was in no position to be complaining about decor when she herself housed an infestation of Godzilla Rats and unshaven chocolatey desserts from hell.

Upon finally reaching the door, Mrs. White shut her mouth and knocked on the banged up, faux-wood door of apartment 221. From within, the sounds of faint banging and shuffling was heard until a guy in his mid twenties jerked open the door and greeted Mrs. White with a smile so bright and sunny that Nico got heatstroke.

"Mrs. White! It's so great to see you! Please, come in! Sorry about the mess. It's been a bit hectic lately. " Sunny-guy scratched the back of his head sheepishly and toed a discarded t-shirt away from the battered shoe rack.

"Oh no problem dearest. Nothing bad I hope?"

"Nah! Just busy is all! Haven't had any time to clean up I guess!"

While Mrs. White and Sunny-guy drifted into the kitchen, Nico sulked by the blueberry muffins. Was he sure this whole experience wasn't all a really worrying dream to clue him in on his own slowly deteriorating sanity? What was Nico going to do now? What did Mrs. White mean by Brownie behaviour and instincts? And why was he hungry but didn't want to eat? Was he sick? Can you get heatstroke from a smile? As questions floated about in his mind, mrs. White and Will continued their conversation.

"Oh it was no trouble dear. Made a few extra, might as well make some extra extras and feed a growing boy, yes?"

"Still Mrs. White. Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Oh it's nothing really. You know something Will?" 'Will,' mused Nico. 'His name is Will.'

"What?"

"I think you might just start having an easier time around here."

"Why'd you think that?"

"Just listen. There's an old superstition, nothing but stories to most but they have their charms. They say that many homes have little spirits that can help the

home-owners."

"Aww. That sounds nice. I could use some spiritual guidance for my dirty dishes." Will laughed. Nico marvelled at how relaxed this guy was in front of the creepy that was Mrs. White.

"Well, it is said that if you leave out a bit of good food during the night for the Little People, you can draw them out to help you if they haven't before. And if you give them enough gifts, and they like you enough, they'll even reveal themselves to you."

"Really? That sounds... kinda sweet I guess? I dunno."

"Well, maybe you should try it. Just leave out some food for the Little People, maybe they'll answer. Even if it is only one."

Will smiled at Mrs. White and nodded again. "You know what? I will. I need a bit of good luck in here."

As soon as Will turned around, Mrs White raised the tupperware container and hissed, "Don't you dare make him upset DiAngelo. Or else I will not teach you a lesson. I will kill you."

Nico gulped heavily and squished himself more firmly between the muffins.


End file.
